


shout out loud, it's all for you

by sleeponrooftops



Category: The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Language, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeponrooftops/pseuds/sleeponrooftops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They do this—thing for a while.  Until one day it’s all too much, and they’ve been dancing around it for too long, and Dean’s just been thinking instead of doing even though he was trying so hard not to, and so he says, “I was kind of a tool, okay, and I might have fallen in love with you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	shout out loud, it's all for you

**Author's Note:**

> A few small discrepancies —
> 
> i. There’s probably a whole slew of inconsistencies in here, mostly to do with the other cast members of _The Hobbit_ , so I’m apologizing in advance if I get anything out of sorts.
> 
> ii. I know absolutely nothing about acting and what these people are actually like, so, again, I apologize for anything you find wrong or stupid. Also, I didn’t do written dialect because no. I’ve done it before, and it makes me want to pull my hair out more than creating my own language does.
> 
> iii. This was originally going to be longer, but then it wasn’t, and now it’s part of a series, and I’m starting to wonder if this is going to become a habit or if it already is. At any rate, this is the first part in the _a hundred million suns_ series, and I have no idea how long it’s going to be, but maybe three, we’ll see what happens.

_March 18, 2011._

 

Dean groans and flops onto his bed, freshly showered and fucking _exhausted_.  It’s definitely too-early-o’clock, but _The Hobbit_ flight is leaving soon, and he wants to be halfway decent and awake for boarding.

 

“Wake up, lazy arse,” Brett says, slapping his toweled behind as he passes by, and Dean lifts his head, one eyebrow quirked.

 

“Did you just—”

 

“Yup,” Brett cuts him off, “Let’s go, get dressed.  I want to leave.”

 

“It’s possible you’re more excited than I am,” Dean mumbles, letting his head drop back down again.

 

“Dean, don’t make me fucking tickle you.”

 

Dean jumps off the bed, running into the bathroom and slamming the door.  “Definitely awake!” he yells through the locked wood, grinning when Brett tries the handle and fails.

 

Going over to the vanity, he scrubs a hand over his beard, wrinkles his nose, and shrugs, turning away.  Brett’s left him clothes on the toilet, so he drops his towel and goes to put them on.  He’s got one foot in his briefs when he hears, “Oh.  Hello.”

 

“ _Shit_ ,” Dean hisses, jamming the other foot in and yanking his briefs up.  Brett turns as the bathroom door opens, and Dean smiles pleasantly, leaning against the doorframe.  “Sara,” he says, flashing a brilliant smile toward the brunette holding one of _his_ button-ups closed.

 

“Dean!” she exclaims, and Brett jumps out of the way as Sara hurries over, forgoing the shirt.

 

“Fifteen minutes,” Dean says even as Sara’s sliding past him and tugging on his wrist, “Brett.”  His brother gives him a look of disbelief, and Dean smirks.  “You are the best brother ever.  Fifteen minutes.”

 

“We’re going to be late!” Brett yells, but then the door’s shut, and he just rolls his eyes and stomps out of the room.

 

They’re almost late.  There’s a woman outside talking furiously with Peter, a clipboard clutched in her hand, and Brett parks with a growing frown, looking at her.  “I told you,” he says, and Dean rolls his eyes.

 

“It’s _fine_.  Seriously, be excited about the plane.  That’s the whole reason you volunteered to help me pack and drive me here, remember,” Dean says, giving his brother a shove before opening the door and hopping down from the enormously high SUV seat.  Seriously, why would he say yes to play a dwarf?  It’s almost humiliating, especially remembering the first time he’d met Richard and felt like he was right back on set with Emmett.

 

Peter and the woman look over as Brett’s door opens, as well, and Peter says something, points at Dean, and leaves the woman yelling after him.  “You’re late,” he says as he stops by the SUV.

 

“ _Sara_ wouldn’t leave,” Brett grumbles as he goes around back to open the boot.

 

“Sorry,” Dean says, “Everyone else here?”

 

“Just waiting on Nesbitt, as usual.  Turner’s making all sorts of weird noises, complaining about your absence—will you please get your shit on the plane and shut him up?  I already have a migraine, and we haven’t even fucking lifted off yet.  It’s like working with goddamn Billy and Dom again, Jesus Christ,” Peter trails off as he starts to walk away, but Dean’s smiling.  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”  He looks up as Peter stops and nearly topples over, he’s laughing so hard.  All he can see, truly, is a head of dark curls and then a squeal, and then Aidan is not so gracefully running down the stairs, arms flailing wildly.

 

At his eruption, a bald head pops out, and Dean waves.  Graham’s laugh echoes around them, Aidan reaches the end of the stairs and trips, and Peter starts grumbling again.  “Hey, shithead!” Brett calls, and Dean turns, rolling his eyes as his brother throws a suitcase at him.

 

He goes to grab his carry-on as the woman from before clicks over, two men behind her.  “Thank you, Mr. O’Gorman.  These gentlemen can take your brother’s things.”  Brett gives her a look, mutters something distasteful under his breath, and tosses Dean his carry-on at the same time Aidan’s footsteps get louder.

 

Brett looks wildly behind Dean, and it occurs to him a second too late that Brett’s dropped him off everywhere, to boot camp and readings and all sorts of shit, but never actually met any of the cast and crew.  And so, when he turns, dropping his carry-on to open his arms, his brother’s shocked noise is not so unwarranted.  He hates hugs, hates them almost as much as he does holding hands and tears, and yet, here he is, offering one to, as far his brother knows, a complete stranger.

 

Aidan literally launches himself at Dean, which would certainly be a lot more productive if Dean wasn’t the size of a dwarf already and Aidan wasn’t a giant fucking tool.  Still, Dean only staggers into the SUV, laughing and squeezing Aidan tightly as Aidan buries his nose in Dean’s neck and fucking _giggles_.  When Aidan finally releases him and tugs him away from the SUV, he’s beaming and jittery, and Brett is looking at Dean like he’s lost his mind.  “I haven’t seen you in a _month_ , mate!” Aidan exclaims, and Dean’s brow comes together at the slight slur in his brogue.

 

“Has Graham already gotten to you, lightweight?” he teases, poking Aidan in the side, to which his dwarf brother giggles, again, and slaps at his hand.

 

“Lightweight, please,” he snorts, “Come on, I got us wicked seats.  Had to spar with Martin to piss off, but Graham’s holding them and now Martin’s being all pouty to Richard, who’s definitely ignoring him.”

 

“Still?” Dean says with a smile before, “Oh, by the way, this is Brett, my—”

 

“The infamous Brett O’Gorman!” Aidan says in a booming voice before Dean can properly introduce him, and, for a brief second, it looks like Aidan’s going to hug him, too, but he just ends up with a vigorous handshake.  “Nice to finally meet you, man,” Aidan says, “Dean’s always talking our ear off.  We really gotta jet, though,” he adds to Dean, “I developed this new talent, and it involves Peter.  Everytime he’s around, I get this prickling sensation at the back of my neck like he’s about to—ah, fuck!” he breaks off as his head tips back, and Dean laughs as Peter appears, one hand in Aidan’s curls.

 

“Let’s go, heirs of Durin,” he says, giving Aidan’s curls a tug before heading off again.

 

“Like I said,” Aidan says, rubbing the back of his head, “I’ll—yeah.”  Aidan’s suddenly weird, and Dean watches as he grabs his carry-on and walks away, hands shoved into his pockets.

 

“That was—weird,” Brett says as he comes over, eyes narrowed, “Something going on with you two?”

 

“What?” Dean says with a laugh, “Nah, Aidan’s just a mate.  Not really supposed to say, but he’s playing Kíli.”

 

“Heirs of Durin, right—holy shit,” Brett says, his face transforming as he looks over at Aidan, “Obviously, I know you’re Fíli.  Who’s, uh—who’s Graham?  And—Richard?”

 

“Shove it,” Dean says, punching him in the shoulder before shrugging.  “Thanks for the ride.  I’ll call you, yeah?  Give mum my love.  Ta,” he says, and then he’s leaving, waving.  Brett waves after him, but he doesn’t get into the SUV immediately, instead watches as Dean jogs the last few steps to a waiting Aidan, who grins and claps an arm around his brother’s shoulders, talking animatedly as they walk away.  Brett makes a noise and smiles before climbing into the SUV and driving off.

 

On the plane, the two are greeted with a loud chorus of noise.  Their greeting is short-lived, however, as Peter boards the plane, Aidan drags Dean over to their seats, and they listen while Peter starts talking.  Afterward, Aidan bends his head conspiratorially toward Dean and says, “So, the inside scoop is, dinner and drinks tomorrow tonight.  You up for it?”

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, nodding, “Of course.  Who’s going?”

 

“Everyone.  It was Richard’s idea.”

 

“Because he’s _Thorin Oakenshield_ ,” Dean booms, and Richard flips them off, to which Dean laughs and pushes against Aidan’s shoulder, not leaning away afterward.

 

They stay there in silence for a bit until Aidan stirs and says, “Buckle up.”  Dean just grunts and straightens, pulling the buckle around his waist, waiting for Aidan to finish his, and then leaning back against him.  “You okay, mate?” Aidan asks, reaching up a hand to feel Dean’s forehead.

 

Dean looks up at him with a quirked eyebrow, and Aidan sticks his tongue out.  “Mama cat,” Dean grumbles, so Aidan pinches him, and he groans, pushing farther against Aidan until his head is against his shoulder instead of on top of it now.

 

“Spill, what’s wrong?” Aidan demands, reaching up to tug on a short strand of blonde hair.

 

“Headache.  Weird morning.”

 

“’Mere,” Aidan says, patting his lap, and Dean straightens, looking at him strangely.  “Lying down is good for headaches.  I don’t mind.”  Shrugging, Dean repositions himself until he’s comfortable, lying on his side with his head resting carefully in Aidan’s lap, against his thigh.  Aidan sighs and curls a hand around Dean’s shoulder, pulling at him until Dean rolls over onto his back.  “Shut up,” he says when Dean opens his mouth when Aidan’s fingers start massaging his head.  Dean shrugs and relaxes further, his short legs stretched out along the extra seat, feet dangling off the end.  “Why was your morning weird?”

 

Dean is quiet for a moment, his blue eyes closed, and Aidan settles his other hand on his chest with nowhere else to put it.  Finally, Dean says, “Just—weird.  There’s this girl I’m seeing, Sara.  She played a small role in the show I’m in, opposite one of the other guys, and we kind of hit it off.  She’s coming back next season as my love interest, so I thought it would be fun, you know?”

 

“That’s the one where you’re a god or something, right?”

 

“Norse god.  Bragi.”

 

“Cool, cool.  Doesn’t sound too weird,” Aidan says, and Dean opens his eyes, holding Aidan’s gaze for a moment before he sighs and looks away.

 

“Just—I dunno, things have been falling apart for a bit, and now I’m worried it’s going to be strange when we’re together on set,” he says in a rush, “And I feel like a dick, and—fuck, we just—we had a fight before we left, but Brett thinks we were just screwing, so he was giving me shit the entire ride over.”

 

“Sorry, mate,” Aidan says, patting him awkwardly on the chest, and Dean huffs a little laugh before reaching up and curling his fingers around Aidan’s wrist.  His eyes slip shut again, his hand stays there, and Aidan smiles as his breathing starts to slow, his fingers still rubbing along Dean’s scalp.

 

The lights go off suddenly, and Graham gives a little cheer in front of them before kicking up his feet in James’ lap until James snorts laughter at him and pushes his feet to the floor.  Aidan grins, reclines his seat a little, and settles in for the ride.

 

\--

 

“Honestly, though, have you ever seen a cuter pair of dwarves?” James says as he hands Graham his carry-on.

 

“Stop being a dick, and wake them up,” Graham grumbles, kicking at James until he moves out of the way.

 

James turns back toward Aidan and Dean, but then Elijah starts laughing loudly at something Peter’s said, and Aidan jumps a little, blinking rapidly.  James grins and leans on his seat, quirking an eyebrow until Aidan focuses on him, sees his expression, and says, “Arsehole.  Go away.”

 

He starts to straighten from his slouched position, but Dean’s still fast asleep in his lap, more than just his head curled up there now, and he smiles fondly, reaching down a hand to shake his shoulder.  Dean awakes with a noise, tries to turn, and ends up on the floor, groaning.  James cackles and falls back into his seat.

 

Aidan’s too busy giggling, so Dean squirms out from between the seats and onto the walkway, yawning and rubbing his face.  Richard gives him a knock on the shins as he passes by, and Dean swears at him before clambering to his feet, and leaning up onto his tiptoes to open the compartment above.  Aidan lunges forward, and Dean rocks back onto his heels and fists a hand in Aidan’s curls, holding him in place and away from tickling range.  “ _Boring_ ,” Aidan whines, flopping onto his stomach and waiting while Dean gets their things before following him from the plane.

 

From there, it’s a two-hour car ride until they’re on set and being assigned their trailers.  “ _Neighbor_!” Aidan screeches as they’re handed a map of the Wellington set, and Dean just laughs and stumbles a little when Aidan swings an arm around his shoulders.

 

They head off with the rest of the cast to where their trailers are located, and it isn’t long before there’s a series of rapid fire knocks on Dean’s door.  He pads out of the bedroom and past the small kitchenette into the sitting area where the stairs and door are.  He pauses at the door, leaning against the wall.  He clears his throat and says, in his highest voice, “Who is it?”

 

Aidan giggles madly on the other side of the door before exclaiming, “Why, I am Kíli, nephew of Thorin, heir of Durin!”

 

“Be still my beating heart!” Dean gasps, dropping his voice back to normal, “For I am your brother, Fíli!”

 

“Fuckin’ weirdo,” Aidan manages through his laughter, and Dean opens the door, heading back up the stairs.  Aidan follows, making a noise when Dean starts to sit, and he laughs when Aidan drags him through the trailer into the back.  “How’s your headache?” he asks, giving Dean a little shove in the direction of the bed.

 

“Better,” he says, sitting, “Thanks, by the way.”

 

“Course,” Aidan says, flopping down next to him, “So, plans for the rest of the day?”

 

Dean frowns, knocking shoulders with Aidan, “I was thinking of just hanging out here.  I’m beat, man.”

 

“Mind if I keep you company?”

 

“Knock yourself out.  Put on a film,” he says even as he’s toeing off his shoes and crawling further up the bed.  While he arranges the pillows, adding the ones he brought, Aidan sets them up with a DVD and leaves the menu screen on while he goes to make tea.  It’s not uncommon for them to spend time together like this.  Even though he was late to boot camp, Aidan was incredibly welcoming, always turning up at his trailer or dragging Dean to his, and they fell into a routine that he’s missed during their month apart.  They’ve only known each other a short time now, but Dean feels like he’s going to have Aidan as a best mate for the rest of his life, and he’s totally okay with that.

 

By the time Aidan returns with the tea and popcorn, Dean’s settled into a large hoodie and is sitting cross-legged, leaning back against the pillows.  Aidan joins him, grabbing the remote on the way, and they watch _Tron: Legacy_ because Dean is the biggest dork he knows, and it’s one of his favorite films.  Aidan’s never seen it, turns out, and Dean spends much of the film laughing at his excitement.  When they’ve finished that, though, he’s starting to feel drowsy, and while Aidan goes to put in something else, he slips under the blankets and duvet, and Aidan laughs when he joins him again until they’re fifteen minutes into the new film, and Dean has been silent thus far.  Aidan leans forward, looking down at him, and Dean returns his gaze, cocking one eyebrow.  “You look like shit, Dean,” Aidan says, frowning.

 

“Feel like shit,” he mumbles, and Aidan sighs before squirming around.  Dean starts to complain until Aidan’s suddenly under the blankets with him, and he gets comfortable against the mountain of pillows and tugs Dean toward him.  Dean goes, confusion writ all over his face, until Aidan sighs and all but manhandles him into the position he wants.  Dean huffs surprise, and gives a very unattractive squawk, when he’s literally lifted off the bed, and Aidan shouts at him for flailing.  “The fuck are you doing, Aid?” Dean grumbles, sitting up because, yeah, he’s in between Aidan’s legs, and this is a little bit weird.

 

“Shut up and lie down,” Aidan says, giving one ear a tug, and Dean frowns at him.  Aidan manhandles him again until Dean’s lying on his back, his head resting against Aidan’s stomach, and he’s about to start complaining again, but then both of Aidan’s hands are in his hair, and Dean groans, melting into the touch.  “Just try to relax, and maybe go to sleep,” Aidan says softly.

 

It takes all of twenty minutes, and then Aidan’s got a lapful of unconscious Dean, and he’s fading fast himself.  And so, by some half-conscious decision, he squirms until he’s lying more comfortably, Dean still trapped between his legs, and he drifts off.

 

When Dean wakes, it’s dark out, moonlight drifting in through the shades, and he yawns, stretching.  He startles when he feels a body, and then relaxes when he remembers Aidan.  He carefully extracts himself from the blankets and Aidan and goes to relieve himself in the bathroom.  When he returns, Aidan has turned onto his side and is still sleeping peacefully, so Dean pads over to the other side, checks the clock—two in the morning—and snuggles back under the blankets.

 

The next time he wakes, there’s a warm, familiar weight against his stomach, and his sweatshirt has risen up a little, so Aidan’s hand rests over a small strip of skin.  When he shifts, though, Aidan does, too, hand tucking farther underneath his t-shirt and sweatshirt, pulling Dean even closer, and he just laughs, settling back into the bed.  Aidan’s breath puffs warm and slow against the back of his neck, and his knees are slotted behind Dean’s, but he’s used to this—he’s woken up plenty of times with Aidan curled around him like a fucking octopus, but he doesn’t care.

 

He thinks of Brett’s face when Aidan had tackled him, and even Sara bitching about how he never wanted to be intimate with her, and it occurs to him that there’s something about Aidan that makes him feel safe, okay enough with himself and his environment that he doesn’t cringe away from touch.  He doesn’t know why it’s been ingrained in him, to hate physical contact, but he’s always been dodgy about it until he met Aidan—Aidan, who licked Nutella off his face after smearing it there in a small baking fight; Aidan, who plays with his fingers and toes when he’s bored just so Dean will resort to something childish like tickling; Aidan, who used to scare the shit out of Dean everytime he snuck up on him and curled his arms around him, but he knows it’s him now, can recognize him somehow, whether it’s by how he smells or the feel of his callused fingertips, but Dean knows it’s more than that, that it’s the familiarity of it, the ease that they’ve developed with each other, and he knows he’d recognize someone else even if they did it exactly the way Aidan does.  It worries him, slightly, but Aidan’s a fucking koala or something, and he’s known that for a while now, ever since he caught the Irishman clinging to James and Graham on occasion.  Where Dean hates to be touched, Aidan thrives on it, and Dean thinks maybe that means something that he doesn’t want to address right now.

 

So he settles for chuckling when Aidan starts, breath whooshing out, and then he’s swearing and disentangling himself.  “I’m a tool, I know, fuckin’ sorry,” he mumbles, rolling onto his back.  Dean stretches languidly before turning until he’s on his side, elbow propping him up.

 

“You are a tool,” he agrees, “But it’s fine.  I’m used to your triad heritage.”

 

“Triad heritage?” Aidan asks, looking over at Dean.

 

“Irish, octopus, and koala.”

 

Aidan holds his gaze for a moment before he bursts out laughing, and Dean grins, rolling onto his stomach and pressing his forehead against Aidan’s arm, yawning again.  He reaches up to curl around Aidan’s arm, who laughs and pinches him, but Dean just hugs tighter.  “Seems like you’re feeling better,” Aidan says, and Dean just grunts and closes his eyes.

 

“What time is it?” he asks after a few long minutes of blissful silence.

 

“Nine o’clock.”

 

“Oh, fuck that,” he says, letting Aidan’s arm go and pulling himself farther up the bed where he can fall into the pillows.  Aidan starts to shuffle, and Dean flings a hand out, landing across Aidan’s front.  “Stay.  You’re making it warmer.”

 

“Human furnace, duh,” Aidan says, and he doesn’t move, and they fall back asleep.  Somehow, Aidan manages to stay in one position until they wake up at eleven, though that’s mostly due to Aidan’s rumbling stomach.  Dean, still half-asleep, slips a hand under his t-shirt and tickles, and Aidan screeches, flailing away from him until he’s tumbling onto the floor and swearing profusely at Dean, who just cackles into his pillows and mumbles for Aidan to go make lunch.

 

And so it happens that they have sandwiches in bed, watch another film, and, at some point, Aidan actually goes back to his trailer so they can shower and get ready for going out that night.  When he leaves, Dean stares at the door for a few moments before sighing and heading toward the bathroom.  An hour later, he’s dressed in black trousers and a plaid button-up, worn black and white Converse on his feet, and a grey jacket.  When he exits his trailer, juggling his keys, wallet, and phone, James’ voice echoes across the park, “Finally, the Kiwi emerges!”

 

Dean flips him the bird over his shoulder while he fumbles with his door, finally manages to get it locked, and starts shoving things in various pockets as he makes his way over to Aidan’s trailer, only a few feet from his.  James and Graham catcall from where they are, and Dean just laughs as he turns the knob and steps inside.  “Hey, you almost ready?” he calls.

 

Aidan all but topples out of his bedroom, and Dean leans against the wall, laughing at him.  “I forgot how shitty those showers were,” he says, struggling to stand, and Dean laughs harder, finally seeing that Aidan’s only halfway into his trousers.  “I’m getting fat,” Aidan says as he gives up, letting the trousers drop to the floor as he straightens and crosses his arms.

 

Dean sinks against the wall, his body shaking until Aidan makes an obnoxious whining noise and he pushes off the wall, shaking his head.  “The shit I do for you, Aidan,” he mumbles, reaching down.  Aidan settles his hands on each of Dean’s shoulders as Dean helps him shimmy into the trousers, and Aidan looks down, amazed, when they go on no problem.

 

“I thought I was supposed to be the magical one,” Aidan comments, zipping and buttoning them, “The fuck are you doing stealing my leprechaun abilities.  Cheers.”  And then he’s dropping a kiss on Dean’s cheek, and all his earlier amusement is gone as he just blinks.  Aidan doesn’t notice his sudden change in demeanor as he plows past Dean back into his bedroom, rummaging about for a jacket.  Dean raises a hand absentmindedly to his cheek, and then shrugs.  It is Aidan, after all.

 

At some point, they get everyone collected, crammed into two SUVs, and they’re out on the town.  Dean’s fairly sure they should definitely not have let Adam and Graham decide on their destination, and that’s how they end up in a club rather than a bar.  Aidan makes an interesting noise when they finally get inside, grabbing at Dean’s arm and tugging on his jacket sleeve, and Dean just grins at him and bumps shoulders with him.  “Yes, Aidan?”

 

“It’s so _colorful_!” he exclaims, doing a little dance before all but dragging Dean toward the bar.

 

“No, no, no, no,” Dean says as Aidan opens his mouth, and Aidan turns on him, pouting.

 

“Just one, and then we’ll have it your way.  _Graham_ , tell Dean to be fair.”

 

Dean mimes vomiting into his hands as Aidan’s pout deepens, and Graham comes over, clapping Dean and Aidan on a shoulder each.  He looks at Dean, who straightens and quirks an eyebrow.  “What are we drinking first round, _Aidan_?” he asks, and Dean sticks his tongue out at him.

 

Aidan goes on to order them obnoxiously colored and fruity drinks, Richard calls him a pussy, and then they find a seat, scoping out a huge round booth that manages to somehow fit them all inside.  It’s squished and a tad strange, but Dean figures it’s high time they started truly bonding.  They scope out the scene, sipping Aidan’s bright drinks, and, when Richard gets up to get them a second round of “fuckin’ dwarvish ale, you elf,” as he says to Aidan, Graham gets up and claims he’s ready to _boogie_.

 

Dean snorts into his drink and nearly chokes.  When Richard and Martin return from retrieving their second round, Dean pushes the last of his cocktail toward Aidan, gratefully grabs for one of the beers, and then pauses, watching in amusement as Aidan knocks back the rest of his and Dean’s drink, makes grabby hands, and takes a generous swig of his beer.  “Adam!” he yells after, and Adam lets out a whoop and slides from the booth.  Aidan takes another sip, pushes his beer toward Dean, and tugs Adam along to the floor.

 

“I am not nearly smashed enough for this,” Dean says before upending what little is left of Aidan’s drink and starting in on his own.

 

After a few more rounds, James and Martin leave for the floor, and, as Jed is finally giving in a bit later, William turns to Dean with a funny expression.  “Too esteemed to join?” he asks, and Dean rolls his eyes.

 

“Shove off, I’m getting there.”  Richard laughs at that, raising his beer, and Dean does the same, necks clinking lightly together.  He tops that off and excuses himself, laughing when he sees Aidan at the bar, hands waving about animatedly as he describes something to the man next to him.  “Hey,” Dean says as he approaches, and Aidan’s eyes go wide with excitement, a beam fitting on his face.

 

“This guy!” he says, pulling Dean toward him, “This is the one I was talking about.”

 

Dean looks up, bewildered, to find a rather handsome face looking down at him.  He’s tall, even sitting, and Dean stands a little straighter, suddenly uncomfortable.  “Yeah, from that show,” the man says after a moment, grinning and nodding at Aidan.

 

“Right!  Oh,” he adds, looking at Dean, “I completely forgot.  Kellan’s got me talking in circles,” he says with a laugh even as he takes a glass with a few fingers of whiskey.  “Your favorite, if I remember right,” he says, offering it to Dean, who accepts with a small smile, surprised he remembered.  “I can see why,” Aidan continues, lifting his own glass, “Join us.  Kellan was just about to tell me about—a doctor, right?”

 

“Correct,” Kellan says, flashing a brilliant smile, and Dean flicks his gaze over to Aidan, who is positively giddy.

 

“Actually, I think Richard was trying to coax me onto the floor,” he says, stepping away, “Have fun.”  He wants to add _be careful_ , and he doesn’t know why, but the way Kellan nods him away makes him feel uneasy.  He heads back to the table, sipping his whiskey, and, when he reaches the others, Richard is slowly making his way down the booth.  Dean grins as he approaches, tips back the rest of his drink, and waits for Richard to join him.

 

Somehow, Graham and James get a hold of him, and there’s really no stopping them once they’re _groovin’_ —and seriously, Dean is going to die of laughter—so he just gives in and lets them have their way until this gorgeous blonde suddenly appears before him, grinning, and James claps him on the shoulder and disappears.  Something booming is playing, enough to make his body tingle, and he gets lost, the blonde doing her very best to hold his attention, which has certainly been captured.

 

And then her mouth is on his, and it’s sour like tequila, but too sour, and he tries to drown in her kiss, but it’s like a sharp pang in his mouth that he pulls away from, gasping.  Her hands are everywhere as bodies press closer around them, and Dean tries to tip his head back, tries to breathe, but everything feels like it’s closing in around him, the room swaying and squeezing closer and choking, and holy fuck, he hasn’t had a panic attack in _years_.

 

He tries to tell her to stop, but his voice is lost in the fireworks setting off in his head, the boom, boom, _boom_ around him.  His hands won’t move properly, won’t propel him where he needs to go, and he’s about to give up, give in, when two steady hands grab onto him and haul him away.  His barely registers his feet moving until he’s stumbling, actually trying to control his feet, and he tries to twist away, fear grabbing hold of him like something fierce and cold.  There’s an addition to the boom, something softer, and the hands release his arms, take his wrist, a thumb pressing against the sweaty skin there.  “ _Dean_ ,” the addition says.

 

Dean blinks, trying to focus, and he hears something that sounds like a swear before he’s being pulled again, the hand tight around his wrist.  He knows that hand, has felt it a hundred times before even though he barely knows the person.  His back hits cold concrete before he can register the change in environment, and the boom fades to a dull roar.  Everything comes swimming into sharp focus like a slap, and Dean inhales tightly, holds his breath until he sees a head of dark curls and warm eyes, and his whole body relaxes.  “Woah,” Aidan says, one hand curling around his bicep and the other around his jaw, “Dean, look at me.  Dean.”

 

Dean forces his eyes open—he doesn’t even remember closing them—and he looks at Aidan, struggling to catch his breath.  “Hey, there you are,” Aidan says softly, thumb brushing over his cheekbone, “Welcome back.  What the hell happened?”

 

“Shit,” Dean manages, sinking back against the concrete, “Where are we?”

 

“Uh—okay, it’s kind of weird, but there are these separate rooms, blocked off by curtains.  It’s quieter in here, and you looked like you were gonna pass out.  Did something happen?”

 

“No, I just—” Dean breaks off, sighing.  He shrugs away from Aidan and scrubs at his face, angry with himself.  What the hell _had_ happened?  “I—I used to have these panic attacks when I was younger,” he says, not looking at Aidan, “I dunno, I just felt claustrophobic all of a sudden, and that—that woman.”  He licks the roof his mouth experimentally, tasting something sour, and he winces, turning to Aidan.  “I dunno, man, but whatever the hell she was drinking, it was fucking bizarre.”

 

Aidan catches him licking again, and he smirks a little, leaning his shoulder against the wall.  “So, some woman started hoppin’ on the Kiwi train, and you flipped out?  Nice, uh—nice tactic to score.”

 

“Oh, bugger off, you sod,” Dean grumbles, shoving Aidan lightly.

 

He starts to say more, but then the curtain is pulled back a little, and Kellan is there.  Aidan turns, brightening.  “Hey, sorry, didn’t mean to leave you.”

 

“Everything alright?” Kellan asks, eyeing Dean, who frowns, but nods.

 

“Yeah, sorry for stealing him.”

 

Kellan doesn’t say anything for a moment, just holds Dean’s gaze, and then he turns it to Aidan, smiling, “Coming back, babe?”

 

“Sure thing,” Aidan says, beaming, and Kellan reaches over to take his hand and tug him out.  He knows Aidan’s into men as well as women, same as he is, but there’s still something that’s bothering him about this guy.

 

Sighing, he leaves the curtained area and makes his way back to the bar, ordering another whiskey and taking it back to the table.  Graham is deep in conversation with William when he approaches, but William starts pointing at Dean, and Graham looks up, relief washing over his face.  “Dean!”

 

“Hey,” Dean says as he slides into the booth, “What’s up?”

 

“Are you okay?”

 

“Yeah, fine.  Why?”

 

“That blonde woman just got escorted out.  Guess she drugged some poor uni kid and left him in the bathroom.”

 

“The one I was dancing with?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well, that explains a shit ton,” Dean says before knocking back his drink, “God, whatever it was, it was fucking sour.”

 

“I thought I saw Aidan pulling you away somewhere.  Where is he?”

 

“Off with some guy he met,” Dean says, shrugging, and Graham gives him a look he doesn’t quite understand.

 

That’s how he spends the rest of the night, chatting with the guys that hang out at the booth and getting royally trashed.  They have a roaring time, laughing and telling stories, and, when Graham and James retire, they tuck up on either side of Dean and squish him between them, but he just laughs and gets comfortable, leaning against Graham, who pets a hand through his blonde hair absentmindedly.

 

It’s getting into the wee hours before more than just Mark and Ken are yawning, and James is nominated to round everyone up.  Peter and Mark drew the short straws for driving, and so they head out to start the cars while everyone else stumbles after them.  With everyone finally outside, James starts counting, Richard makes fun of him, and Dean looks around for an Irishman to lean on.  “Where’s Aidan?” he finally comes to the conclusion, and James rolls his eyes.

 

“Going back to _Kellan’s_ place,” he says the name dramatically, “He said he’d catch a cab.”

 

And so that’s settled, despite the growing pit in Dean’s stomach.  They make it back to Wellington harmlessly, and Dean collapses onto his bed still fully clothed, knowing he should get up and undress but falling quickly into sleep at the same time.  When his phone starts ringing, he swears it’s only been ten minutes, and glares blearily at his phone to find it’s been two hours, and it’s nearly four o’clock.  Dean has half a mind to ignore it, but then he sees the picture Aidan took, a close-up of his eye, wrinkled with a smile, and he swipes up to answer.

 

He grunts by way of hello, but Aidan’s already talking, “So yeah, I fucked up big time.”

 

“What?” Dean asks, rubbing his eye.

 

“Look, I know you didn’t like Kellan, I could tell, and you had every reason not to, and—”

 

“Aidan,” Dean says, suddenly alert, “Are you okay?”

 

“Well,” Aidan draws out the word, “That’s a relative term right now, I’d say.”

 

“Where are you?  What happened?” Dean asks, rolling off the bed and heading out of the bedroom, though he pauses at the door, turning halfway.

 

“I’m, uh—I’m outside, at the moment, but I’m not really alone.  Again, a relative term.  I—”

 

“Are you safe?” Dean asks, making up his mind and grabbing one of his sweatshirts from the floor.

 

“Relative term.”

 

Dean swallows a remark of annoyance and says instead, “Find somewhere warm to go.  Text me where you are.  I’ll be right there.”

 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Aidan says, his voice so little that Dean pauses at his door, the fear subsiding into pain for a brief second before Aidan clears his throat and says, “Oh, café.  Ta.”

 

And then he’s gone, and Dean’s pulse has skyrocketed.  He fumbles with his phone, calls a cab, and makes the trek from the park to the gates.  The cab arrives shortly after he does, and he reads the directions from Aidan’s text, ignoring the bit about him hiding behind the counter at the café, and it’s a long, torturous ride until he finally arrives at the café.  “Wait here,” he says before he slides out, leaving the sweatshirt in the cab, which idles by the curb while he hurries across the sidewalk and into the café where a frightened girl is trying to explain she doesn’t know Aidan.  “Hey!” Dean calls as the door shuts behind him, and Kellan turns, “Go home.”

“Oh, fuck off, dwarf,” Kellan groans, and Dean laughs, shaking his head as he walks over.

 

“Get out of here.  Stop causing this poor woman trouble.  Whoever you’re looking for clearly isn’t here.”

 

“Nice try, arsehole,” Kellan says, and then Dean’s staggering backward, gasping as he holds his jaw.  The girl shrieks, another fist comes flying, Dean feels like he’s gone blind, and then Kellan’s on the floor.  When his visions swims back into focus, his nose is bleeding something awful and Aidan is crouched in front of him.

 

“Why am I on the floor?” Dean asks, and Aidan laughs in relief, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

 

“Guess that training paid off.  Nice punch, by the way,” he commends as he settles back on his heels, “Knocked him out cold.  Come on, they’re calling the police, and Abby said I could steal away if I promised to have coffee with her at a later date.”

 

“Fuckin’ player,” Dean grumbles, holding out a hand.  Aidan heaves him to his feet, and Dean gapes at the sight of Kellan spread eagle on the floor, tables strewn about him.  “I did that?” he asks in disbelief.

  
“Shit, yeah, right after he clocked you in the nose.  Make-ups gonna hate you.  Do you think it’s broken?”

 

“Hell, maybe.  I dunno, I’m so fucking tired.”

 

“Cheers, Abby.  I’ll call you, yeah?”  Abby waves even as Aidan’s leading Dean away, and they pile into the cab, Aidan asking for the nearest hospital.

 

It’s only when they’re falling into the lull of driving that Dean notices how Aidan holds himself, his left hand tucked closed against his body.  “You okay?” he asks, looking to his hand.

 

“Oh,” Aidan says, holding it up with a grimace, “Yeah, I would’ve fought him myself, but I think he sprained my wrist.”

 

“Excellent.  How are you supposed to hold a sword now?”

 

“I may be left-handed, jackass, but I fight with my right hand.  Peter asked me to learn with the right hand.”

 

“Ah.  Fuck, this hurts,” Dean adds, pulling his hand away only to find it covered in blood.  “Hand me that sweatshirt?”

 

“Is this yours?” Aidan asks.

 

“Yeah, I brought it in case you were still outside and cold.  Don’t look at me like that, I’ll smack you.”  Aidan just smiles wider, and the rest of their ride is in silence until they arrive at the hospital.  It’s a short visit—Dean’s nose is only badly bruised and Aidan’s sprain is small—and it’s only five thirty by the time they’re getting back to Wellington.  It’s as they’re walking back toward the trailers that Dean finally asks, “So, what happened?”

 

Aidan sighs and says, “It was stupid.  He was shit to me before we got back to his place, but I’d had enough that I didn’t care.  Then he was offering me a line in his apartment, and I tried to decline, so he got pissed, hence the wrist.  I did actually land a punch, and a well-placed knee, and that’s how I got away from his apartment, but he followed me.  But no, nothing too serious.  Are you, uh—will you be okay?” he adds as they approach Dean’s trailer.

 

Dean looks over at Aidan and then at his trailer, and he sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair.  “You wanna—stay the night?” he asks, not looking at Aidan.

 

“Yeah, if you want.”

 

“Yeah,” Dean nods.  And so it’s settled.  This time, though, when they get into Dean’s bedroom, Dean tugs off his trousers, laughs when Aidan looks at his own in despair, helps him out of his, and then shrugs out of his jacket and flannel, rummaging through his drawers until he finds a t-shirt.  He tosses one to Aidan, who tries valiantly to get out of his current one and only ends up whining.  “If you weren’t so adorable, I’d have to kick you out on a daily basis,” Dean teases, coming over to help Aidan out of his shirt and into the new one.

 

He starts to turn away when he’s done, smiling softly, but Aidan’s good hand curls around his wrist and stops him, and Dean looks up, curious.  Aidan smiles, thumb brushing over the inside of Dean’s wrist, so familiar, and, when Aidan tugs him closer, Dean goes.  He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to explain why he tilts his head up and gives Aidan the last confirmation he needs, but he does know that kissing Aidan Turner is something he wants to do a thousand times more.

 

It’s soft and hesitant and so pure, Dean just relaxes into him, kisses back slowly and easily.  And, when Aidan pulls back, he lifts his good hand to tap Dean on the nose and says, “Not a word.”  He gets into bed, and Dean stares after him for a moment before following.  He lies on his back, as close to Aidan as he can get, their shoulders and arms pressed together until he can’t take it anymore, and he rolls onto his side.  Immediately, Aidan follows, curling an arm around Dean and pulling him close.

 

And they don’t talk about it.

 

\--

 

_June 23, 2011._

They do this— _thing_ for a while.

 

More often than not, one of them ends up in the other’s trailer, and they wake with Aidan being an octopus and Dean complaining about his cold feet.  Aidan steals one of Dean’s favorite sweatshirts on a chilly night, and Dean doesn’t feel like complaining because it just looks _so good_ on him.  Somehow, Dean’s memory card gets filled up with New Zealand and close-ups of costumes and weapons and _Aidan_ , and then he fishes out his SLR and uses that until the roll is done.  Aidan makes them watch more romcoms than Dean thought possibly existed in the world, and, in return, he brings out his geek collection of Star Wars and superhero films.  They spend a long weekend watching the first two seasons of _Almighty Johnsons_ and the first three of _Being Human_.  During a small snowstorm on location where they have makeshift trailers that they share, they lock themselves up, make obscene amounts of hot chocolate and tea, play board games, and venture out only once to have a snowball fight that turns into an all-out war when the rest of the cast hears them shrieking and laughing.  And, somewhere in all of that, sometimes Aidan will shake everything up and kiss Dean chastely on the mouth, sometimes only on the cheek, and Dean starts to pluck up his courage, and he kisses Aidan’s knuckles when they’re snuggling and watching the telly, hands curled together, or he kisses his ear when they’re on set and no one’s looking because it makes Aidan giggle and squirm.

 

It’s weird, though, and Dean knows it, even if he finds himself constantly pushing that thought away because he doesn’t want to think, he just wants to be, but the first block of filming is almost over, and thinking is all he can do.  Because he’s still technically seeing Sara, and Aidan still flirts his heart away whenever they go out drinking, but something else is happening there.

 

Aidan goes home with someone again the second time they all go out, and Dean doesn’t see him for two days until he’s just there one day, chattering away in make-up, but Dean can see something of a shadow in his eyes when Aidan looks at him.  It tugs at him in a way he can’t really explain, and that night he calls Sara instead of asking Aidan back to his.  He knows he’s a picky fucking bastard, that he likes things his way and he’s hard to get on with, and he thinks maybe that’s why he gets so annoyed when Sara’s voice drops, husky and wanting.  He’s never been overly fond of phone sex, and it’s like the final snap until he says, “I’m sorry.  I know I’ve been a dick, but this isn’t working.”  And Sara opens up a string of profanity at him that he hangs up on, and he sleeps horribly that night.  He gives up at five in the morning, thirty minutes before their call time, and Aidan opens the door to his trailer on the second knock, looking just as exhausted.  “What happened, Aid?” he asks finally, and it scares him that Aidan’s eyes fill with tears and he shakes his head.

 

Weeks pass, and March fades into April and then into May, and suddenly it’s June, and Aidan doesn’t go home with anyone anymore, and Dean hasn’t thought about Sara in ages, and they never spend a night apart, and Dean knows what’s going on, but he’s so terrified of it.  And then the first block of shooting is over, and they have this break looming up before them, and Aidan has a flight scheduled in four days back to Ireland.

 

Dean invites him back to his for the four days so he doesn’t have to hang around in the trailers like a loner, and Brett is there waiting at the airport for them.  “I’m not a fucking chauffeur,” Brett grumbles when Dean approaches first, Aidan lagging behind a little because he fell asleep on the plane, curled up in Dean’s lap.

 

“He’s coming back with me for a few days, okay?  Calm down,” Dean says, frowning.

 

Brett sighs and scrubs a hand over his face before saying, “Mia left.”

 

Dean pulls his brother into a hug immediately, releasing him only when Aidan’s reached them.  “You wanna talk about it?” he asks, but Brett shakes his head.

 

“Give me a ring when you’re free, yeah?  It’s fine—I’m sorry.”

 

“No, no, it’s cool, totally understandable.  Aid, you remember Brett.”

 

“Hey,” Aidan says tiredly, but his smile is still bright and he waves.

 

When they get back to his house, something he finally settled down in a good few years ago, Dean tosses Aidan the keys and lingers outside to talk with Brett for a few minutes before his brother leaves, and, when he takes his things inside, it’s to find Aidan collapsed on the couch, breathing soft and slow.  Dean decides to leave him there with a sticky note pressed to his forehead for when he wakes, and then he heads out to do the shopping, grateful to be back in his low Buick rather than Brett’s enormous SUV.

 

He’s only been gone an hour when his phone rings, he flashes an apologetic smile to the cashier before answering, “Hey, hold on a tick.”  He pays, listening to Aidan hum pleasantly through the phone, and there’s another sound underneath that, like he’s tinkering around in the house.  When he’s out of the market, he says, “Sorry, just finishing up with the shopping.  What’s up?”

 

“I ordered Thai and adopted a kitten, apparently.  Honest, this wasn’t preplanned.”

 

Dean’s brow furrows, but, somehow, he’s not entirely shocked, “You—what?”

 

“Okay so, it’s actually really simple.  I was ordering Thai—which, okay, no one else in my life likes good food, so it seems I’m going to have to keep you judging from that menu box—and I went outside to get the mail cos I figured you forgot, and this little kitten ran in, and—” he breaks off, and then the tiniest little meow echoes across the phone.  Dean melts, and thinks, _damn it_.  “She’s so little and frail, Fí, and she has no collar, and she’s really soft.”

 

“Damn it, Aidan.”

 

“I knew you were a cat lover!” he exclaims, and Dean grins.

 

“Both, actually, so here’s hoping,” Dean says as he starts loading the shopping into the boot, “Speaking of, has a man named Jared been by?”

 

“Uh, well—the bell just rang, so maybe.  Don’t hang up.”  There’s the little meow again, and then Aidan’s humming as he moves through the house.  “Hello?”

 

“Hey, you must be Aidan.  Jared Turner, Dean asked me over.”

 

“Aidan, meet Jared,” Dean says, and Aidan clucks his tongue at him, “There’s something I haven’t told you.”  And then Aidan gives a small noise of surprise and delight, and Dean hangs up.  The drive home is short, and, when he comes in, Aidan and Jared are in the kitchen, chatting over beers at the island.  There’s a small kitten curled up by Aidan’s elbow, a tabby, and she blinks blue eyes at Dean.

 

“Hey!” Jared exclaims, coming over to bear hug him.  Aidan excuses himself to go get the shopping, and Dean starts putting away what he’s carried in when Jared releases him.  “So, that’s your dwarven brother?” Jared asks, taking his seat at the island again.

 

“Yeah, Kíli,” Dean says with a fond smile.

 

He goes over to the kitten once he’s finished, stroking a finger over its head, and Jared opens his mouth to say something when a sudden thud at the other end of the house is heard.  “ _That_ is ridiculous,” Jared says as Dean turns, “The fact that he can _smell_ you, mate, you’ve got him trained like I’ve never seen.”

 

Logan bounds into the room, a four-year-old German Shepherd, and Dean laughs, falling to one knee and catching him in his arms, burying his face in his fur.  “How was he?” he asks as he stands again, threading his fingers through Logan’s fur absentmindedly.

 

“Great, really.  You were right about that whole bonding thing before you left, he definitely took to me better once I’d been around more.  So, what’s with the kitten?”

 

“Her name is Grace,” Aidan supplies as he comes back in, kicking the door shut behind him.

 

“Apparently, we’ve taken in a stray,” Dean says with a soft smile, reaching over to pet Grace again, who sniffs at his palm before nuzzling against his hand.

 

“You,” is all Jared says, pointing a finger at him before he knocks back the rest of his beer, “Alright, I have to get back.  It’s good seeing you, mate.  Give me a ring sometime, and we’ll catch up with the guys.”

 

They hug before Jared leaves, and then Aidan turns.  “You didn’t tell me you had a dog,” he accuses, but he’s smiling.

 

“You didn’t tell me you had a fondness for stray cats,” Dean says right back, and then they’re laughing.

 

Dean suspects he shouldn’t be surprised Aidan slips so easily into his life, even in his own home, and he also suspects he should be a little worried about it, but he does that not thinking again thing and just spends the four days Aidan has left in New Zealand spending every second together, catching lunch at a different place every day, watching too many films, walking Logan together, and playing endlessly with Grace.  In the end, on the eve of Aidan’s departure, when Aidan comes in from his shower, and Dean’s sat in bed reading, Grace in his lap and Logan lying at his feet, it all comes to a screeching halt in Dean’s head.  He looks up as Aidan comes into the room, toweling off his hair, in only a pair of plaid pajama pants, and it occurs to him quite suddenly that they’ve been doing this dance for far too long, and the fact that Aidan slides into bed next to him and plucks Grace out of his lap to snuggle with her speaks volumes.

 

Dean puts down his book very slowly, means to ask what the hell they’re doing, and ends up saying, “So, Grace.”

 

Aidan is silent for a bit, gaze fixed on the tabby while he pets her, but, eventually, he looks up and over and says, “I was wondering if maybe she’d stay here.  Logan seems to have taken to her.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” Dean says, shrugging.  And then it’s quiet and weird, and Aidan isn’t an octopus that night, and they don’t talk the next day until Aidan’s getting his shit from Dean’s boot, and Dean is watching him sadly.

 

“Well,” Aidan says, shifting his weight from foot to foot, and Dean can see him chewing on his bottom lip, a habit he’s noticed Aidan picks up when he’s nervous.  He opens his mouth as if to say more, shrugs, and then reaches forward, pulling Dean into a loose hug.  “I’ll see you in a few weeks, yeah?”

 

He releases him, Dean says goodbye, and then Aidan’s gone into the airport, and Dean has a brief moment of anger toward himself for not _doing something_.  He’s spent all this time just _doing_ and not thinking, and now he’s let his brain decide for him, and he has half a mind to run after Aidan into the airport, but, instead, he gets into the Buick and drives away, back to Logan and Grace and his bed with an empty right side.

 

\--

 

_July 24, 2011._

Dean looks up at the sound of his phone ringing, and he swears, shaking off one of his hands and lifting the phone, jamming it between his shoulder and ear to answer, “Hello?”

 

“ _Hey_!” Adam sings, and Dean smiles lightly, “We’re out front.”

 

“Right, one second.”

 

He hangs up, puts the photo in water to clean, and washes off his hands before pushing through a door into a pitch black room.  He closes the door firmly behind him, flicks on the lights, and goes through another door out into his studio.  It _was_ the garage until he got construction done on it, and, with the guys slowly filtering back to New Zealand, they’ve been bugging him about seeing it.

 

Adam’s flanked by Graham, Richard, and James, and he holds the door open for them.  They exchange hugs and small talk in the hallway until Adam mentions the studio, and Dean nods, leading them through the house.  It’s nothing extravagant, but he loves it.  They pass by the kitchen and living room, which is open on the entire left side while the right ends in a set of stairs leading up to the second level.  The garage extends out on the left, farther back, but Dean had a small hallway built from the back of the house connected to it, and he leads them through the sliding doors at the back of the house, into white walls and bright lights.  The studio doors are open, and they step in with appreciative noises, looking around at the wide open space.

 

“What are you working on right now?” Adam asks as he peers at a framed set of photos hanging on one of the white walls.

 

“Shit,” Dean says, already heading for the door at the back, where a section is blocked off, “I actually have something in water that needs drying.”  The guys follow him, shrugging, and he waits until they’re all in the small room before saying, “Sorry, lights off.”  He floods them with darkness and then opens a second door into orange light, leaving it open after him.  They come in as he’s taking the photo from the water and hanging it, and Graham whistles.

 

“This shit is serious, Dean,” he says, casting his eyes around the dark room.

 

Dean just grins and sets about shutting off the different flow of chemicals.  Once he’s tidied up, they head back out into the studio where Logan is padding inside curiously, Grace following him.  Dean whistles, and Logan comes over, sniffing at the air.  “Guys, this is Logan and Grace,” he introduces, and Richard’s already bent on a knee holding out his hand for Logan to sniff.

 

“Do you paint in here, too?” Adam asks, and Dean nods, pointing over to a corner partially hidden by the dark room.

 

“Everything’s in here—photography, painting, and _Aidan_.”

 

“What?” Adam says, but Dean’s gaze is fixed on Aidan, who’s stepping into the room, offering a wave and a small smile.

 

“Got Graham’s text,” he says, shrugging, “The door was open.”

 

Logan barks loudly, and his smile turns into a wide beam as Logan bounds over to him, jumping up.  He greets him affectionately, and all Dean can do is stare because Logan is so much like him, it took him _forever_ to get him to trust Jared before he could leave him with him, and all Aidan had was four days.  Grace starts meowing frantically, scurrying over to Aidan, and Richard straightens, laughing heartily.  He looks at Dean, shaking his head, and says, grinning, “When are you going to tell him?”

 

Dean splutters, meeting Richard’s gaze, and Graham and James start laughing, as well, as Richard claps a hand on his shoulder.  They don’t say anymore, though, because then Aidan is walking over, Grace sitting on his shoulder, _somehow_ , and they’re making plans for dinner and drinks.  They’re out, the six of them, and James is wielding some crazy tale, when Dean turns to Aidan and asks, “So, have you got somewhere to stay for the week?”

 

“Uh, yeah,” Aidan says, facing him, “We’ve all got rooms at this hotel while we wait for everyone else to get here.”

 

“Oh,” Dean says, nodding, looking back down at his drink.  He takes a slow sip, and, when he looks up again, Aidan’s studying him, and it makes Dean’s blood run hot.  He sighs, reaching up to scrub a hand through his hair, and he says, “Listen, what the hell is going on with us?”

 

Aidan sighs, deflating back into the booth and shrugs.  “I dunno.  I—fuck, Dean, I’ve missed you.  But I dunno, man, I thought you wanted space.  I didn’t want to be hanging around for no reason or something.”

 

Dean blinks, absorbing his words, and, like a light switching, everything slots into place.  “Come stay at mine for the week,” he says, and he tries to weight the words enough that Aidan understands.

 

After a moment, he nods and says, “Yeah, okay,” and Dean can’t help the smile that turns up his mouth.  Aidan matches his with a lopsided one, leaning in to nudge him.

 

When they get back to the house, they’re both piss drunk and laughing over nothing, and the others are smirking at them when Richard pulls up in front of the house and they get out.  “Cheers, uncle,” Aidan says, a little better off, and he taps the door before tugging Dean over to the front door.

 

As they drive off, Aidan giggles when Dean can’t get the key in properly, and he loops his arms around Dean’s waist, snuggling close as Dean laughs and nearly drops his keys.  “Maybe I’ll just sleep on your doorstep,” Aidan teases, and then he’s leaning down to kiss the tan stretch of skin of Dean’s shoulder because his shirt’s shifted a little.  Dean hums in appreciation, finally gets the key in, and they stumble into the house.

 

Dean dumps his keys in a bowl, Logan barks lazily from the living room, and Dean turns as Aidan closes the door softly behind him.  “Fucking hell, Aid,” he grumbles, sinking against the wall.  Aidan quirks an eyebrow at him, leaning back against the door, and Dean looks down at the way Aidan’s legs are spread a little, hips pushed up off the door, only his back pressed against the wood.

 

“Yeah?” Aidan says, his accent thick and curling from the alcohol and how low he’s pitched his voice.

 

Dean’s exhale is loud, and he looks back up at Aidan’s hazel eyes, finds them dark, and he flaps a hand at him before saying, “I was kind of a tool, okay, and I might have fallen in love with you.”

 

All at once, Aidan’s eyes are warm and hazel again, and he pushes off the door, stepping in front of Dean and forcing him to look up.  “You’re drunk,” he says, and Dean nods.

 

“I am, but not nearly enough that I don’t know what I’m saying.  I’m not a fucking lightweight,” Dean says, pushing off the wall and straightening.  He grabs one of Aidan’s wrists, just letting his fingers rest there, thumb stroking over the soft skin on the inside like Aidan always does to him.  “I should have fucking kissed you at the airport, and you shouldn’t have thought you had to get a hotel room instead of coming here, and I should’ve _called_ you or something over break, and I’ve missed you so much, and I’ve been such an idiot.  I’ve just been sat here waiting for something to happen and not thinking, when really I should have stopped letting you make all the moves and shown you that I wanted this, too.”

 

Aidan’s smile is wide and bright when he says, “So, you did actually catch on?  You didn’t think I was flirting with you just because I’m obnoxiously friendly?”

 

“Fuck no, Aid,” Dean says, and now he’s pouting a bit, “I knew, and you knew that I, and—just kiss me, or I’m gonna hit you.”

 

Aidan chuckles softly before dipping down, and Dean inhales sharply when Aidan’s mouth meets his.  He tastes like fruit and whiskey and a slight hint of mint, and it makes Dean’s head spin, so he leans up into Aidan’s space, reaching up a hand to fist in those damn curls.  Aidan lets Dean move them until he’s pressed against the wall, and Dean’s kissing him back for all he’s getting.  Aidan breaks it off, tipping his head back with a gasp, but then Dean’s kissing down his neck, and he groans.  Dean’s hand falls to his shoulder, squeezing, and Aidan swears, taking hold of his biceps and pushing him back.  “Bed,” he growls, and Dean nods, shaking loose of his hold only to grab his hand and pull him down the hall and toward the stairs.

 

They barely make it up the stairs because Dean’s shirt has shifted again, and Aidan’s going crazy, hands sliding over Dean’s waist as he leans down to kiss and bite at the back of Dean’s neck until Dean suddenly gasps, hand slapping out against the wall.  Aidan smirks and licks over the nape of his neck before biting again, and Dean groans, head tipping forward to give him better access.  “How intriguing,” Aidan murmurs against his skin, and Dean reaches back to smack him lightly before jogging up the last of the steps, putting distance between them.

 

There’s only three rooms upstairs, the master bed and bath, and a storage room that really acts as a makeshift study what with the towers of books and two armchairs, but Dean’s stepping inside his bedroom when Aidan crests the stairs.  He follows him, groaning when Dean yanks off his shirt and tosses it to the floor.  Aidan starts unbuttoning his plaid shirt even as he kicks the door shut, and Dean turns when he shrugs out of his shirt.

 

Dean lets his eyes rake over Aidan, from curls to boots, and he wets his lips slowly, smirking when he finds Aidan’s gaze fixed on his mouth.  They meet again in a clash of bodies, Aidan’s hands busy between them as he fumbles with Dean’s buckle one-handed, the other bracketed around the back of his neck, holding him close as they kiss, licking into each other’s mouths and exploring.

 

Dean’s knees hit the back of the bed and he sits, breaking the kiss, staring up at Aidan, who bites his lips as he meets Dean’s gaze.  “Shoes,” Aidan suddenly says.

 

Dean stares at him in confusion for a moment before going, “ _oh_ ,” and then Aidan’s dropping down on the bed next to him to yank off his boots.  Dean makes quick work of his Converse before standing and tugging off his trousers, and he’s just about to reaches for his briefs when Aidan’s hands curl around his hips and he’s manhandled onto the bed.  Aidan presses him into the mattress, kissing him hard, and Dean moans into his mouth, spreading his legs just enough that Aidan can slot a thigh between them, strong muscle pushing against Dean’s hard cock.  He can feel Aidan heavy against his own thigh, separated by a thin layer of cotton, and it makes him ache for more.

 

“Aidan,” he says, a little breathless, when Aidan starts attacking his neck, kissing and biting his way down to Dean’s collarbone where he sucks a mark there and makes Dean forget what he meant to say.  But then Aidan’s licking into the hollow at the base of his throat before he makes his way up again, and Dean remembers his words, so instead of speaking, he hooks a leg up over Aidan’s hip and turns, rolling them over until he’s straddling him.

 

Aidan groans, low in his throat, as Dean kisses him once on the mouth and then shifts, knees settling between Aidan’s bent legs so that he can kiss his way down his torso, pausing to flick a tongue over a nipple, making Aidan gasp and squirm.  “Fuck, _Dean_ ,” Aidan moans when he straightens and rids them both of their briefs, and Aidan’s cock settles heavy against his belly.

 

It’s been a while since he’s been with another man, but Dean remembers this easily, and, when he bends down to kiss along Aidan’s stomach, teasing, Aidan threads a hand through his hair.  Dean looks up along his body to see him watching him with dark eyes, lips parted and breath harsh.  Dean hums and flicks his eyes back down, and Aidan moans loudly when Dean takes the head of his cock in his mouth, tongue dragging over before he sucks and takes more of him in.

 

Aidan tastes so much better than he remembers this being, and Dean thinks it should worry him that he already feels so familiar, but he pushes the thought away and _does_ , like he’s been meaning to all this time, until Aidan’s whining and pulling at his hair.  He releases him with a soft pop, following Aidan’s tug until they’re slotted together again, kissing fast and hard.  “I wanna fuck you,” Aidan says as they break away to breathe, “Is that okay?”

 

Dean nods frantically, and then they’re rolling again, Aidan pressing him into the mattress, cocks sliding together as he kisses Dean fiercely.  This time, when he pulls away, it’s to press their foreheads together and say, “So, all my shit’s at the hotel still.”

 

Dean grins—because yeah, they’re finally fucking _doing this_ —and says, “Nightstand.”

 

“Typical,” Aidan teases, kissing him on the nose before leaning up and over, reaching into the nightstand.  Dean preoccupies himself distracting Aidan, nosing against the dark hair on his chest and biting occasionally until Aidan’s pinning him down with a kiss that makes him gasp for air when Aidan finally retreats.  He’s about to say something snarky when Aidan curls a hand around his dick and tugs, and Dean bows off the bed, words lost in a moan.  Aidan gets him all nice and riled before his hand is suddenly gone, and Dean starts to whine when Aidan nips at his belly and leans back on his heels.

 

The first finger is slow and with a bright flash of quick pain, and Dean sucks in a breath, willing his body to relax.  Aidan is careful with him, like he might break, finger slowly curling, and then Dean’s groaning and pushing down onto his hand as he rubs over his prostate.  “Aidan,” he says, frantic, and Aidan reaches out to grasp his flapping hand.  The second finger is easier, and Dean rocks down onto it as Aidan stretches him slow and careful.  He’s barely gone a third finger when Dean pulls at his hand until Aidan leans up to kiss him, and he pulls away to say, “Now.”

 

“Yeah?” Aidan asks, breath ghosting over Dean’s face, eyes dark with want.

 

“Yeah,” Dean says, tipping up to kiss him again.

 

Aidan leaves him to kiss down chest before he’s leaning back again and tearing the foil open.  When he lines up against Dean’s entrance, cock pressing hot against him, Dean nods again as Aidan’s gaze flicks up to him.  With one hand on his hip and the other guiding his dick, Aidan presses in slowly, groaning as he slides in, hips meeting Dean’s ass.  “Fuck,” he gasps, holding there, thumb ghosting over the jutting bone of Dean’s hip, waiting.

 

Dean’s breath stutters out of him at the sight and feel of him, and he rolls his hips down, biting his lip at the sound that Aidan makes.  He finds his hand on his hip and pulls until Aidan’s against him again, and they’re kissing languidly, all heat and slow pressure, and it makes Dean want to burst.  “Ready?” Aidan asks when they part, but then he’s kissing him again, and Dean answers by way of bending one knee, giving Aidan better access.

 

It’s not slow or easy or careful, and, when Aidan shifts, kissing Dean a last time before he leans his forehead against his own, Dean curls a hand around his shoulder and gasps because then Aidan’s pulling out and rocking back in, building a quick rhythm that neither of them are going to last long for.  They stay pressed together until Dean groans and hooks his leg up over Aidan’s ribs, and Aidan’s temple drops to his shoulder with a growl, his hands finding Dean’s hips so he can hold him there and fuck into him, fast and hard.

 

“ _Aidan_ ,” Dean says, curling a hand in his hair and tugging.  Aidan goes, tipping his head back until Dean can get at his neck, and Aidan’s left hand leaves to curl around the headboard behind them, panting as Dean kisses along the column of his neck, pausing at the curve where neck meets shoulder and biting.

 

“ _Shit_ —Dean,” Aidan moans, the hand on his hip moving to hook under Dean’s other knee, bringing it up and over.  Dean hooks his ankles together, matching thrust for thrust.  He releases Aidan’s neck with a groan, and Aidan’s mouth finds his immediately as his hand drops from the headboard to settle alongside Dean’s head, fingers fisted tightly in his hair.

 

Dean arches up off the bed as Aidan’s cock rubs over his prostate, moaning, and Aidan actually smirks, shifting his hips so that he glides over it on every thrust, his right hand coming between them to curl around Dean’s cock and match time with the rhythm he snaps into Dean.  Aidan slides up and digs a thumb over the head of his cock, and Dean swears, bucking up against him.  “ _Fuck_ ,” he growls out, and Aidan groans, pressing his forehead against Dean’s shoulder again as his pace quickens.

 

He bites at Dean’s shoulder, a low whine building in the back of his throat, and Dean knows he’s close, can feel it in the sudden bunching of his muscles, the sharp twist of his wrist.  He gasps as Aidan’s thumb presses in against the bundle of nerves below the crown, and then he’s squeezing up along the head, and Dean’s orgasm hits him like a punch to the gut.  He comes with Aidan’s name on his tongue, and Aidan’s breath hitches before he’s groaning, long and low, teeth sharp against Dean’s shoulder as his hips stutter out of time.

 

They come down together, the silence of the room filled with their heavy breaths and trembling limbs, and it’s only when Aidan lifts his head to look at Dean that Dean lets a soft laugh tumble out of him.  “The fuck you laughing at me for?” Aidan grumbles, but he’s smiling when he leans down to kiss him.  Dean groans when he leans away and pulls out, legs falling boneless back onto the bed, and Aidan pats one of his thighs before getting off the bed.  He returns a few moments later with a few tissues, and Dean starts to take them from him, but Aidan swats at his hand and kisses him silent, cleaning up the mess on his belly.  He tosses that into the trash when he’s finished and climbs in under the blankets, tugging at Dean’s elbow when he’s too slow.

 

“I was laughing because I’m just—fucking happy we’re done dancing around this,” Dean says as he slides in next to Aidan and lets himself be pulled in against him and kissed.  When they finally part, Dean rolls on his side, and Aidan does the same, arm wrapping around Dean, the palm of his hand coming to rest over his chest, a familiar weight that makes Dean grin giddily in the darkness.

 

Aidan kisses the back of his neck and mumbles, “Love you.”

 

Dean’s grin turns into a beam, and he presses back against Aidan.  “I love you, too.”  And he definitely doesn’t think about how that should worry him, that they’ve fallen into this so quickly.

 

\--

 

In the morning, when it’s still early and quiet, Dean’s got a hangover like you read about, but Aidan’s being an octopus, and it makes him smile, and it doesn’t matter that his head aches and his body feels like it’s being weighed down.  One of Aidan’s thighs is slotted between his, and his other foot is pressed against Dean’s warm ones; his nose is tucked in against the back of Dean’s neck, and his arm is still curled around him, holding him close, and it all makes him feel fuzzy inside, like everything is just right, and this is how it was always meant to be between them.  At the same time, though, he knows there’s something lingering there, something unsaid about the events in between, but he figures they’ll get to that in time.

 

“You think loudly,” Aidan murmurs against his skin, sleepy and adorable sounding, and Dean hums when he presses a tired kiss to his neck, “Penny for your thoughts?”

 

“Just thinking about this.”

 

“Good or bad?”

 

“Definitely good,” Dean says, reaching up to wind his fingers through the hand Aidan’s got resting against his chest.  He can feel Aidan’s smile against his neck, and it makes his own mouth turn up until Aidan budges closer, thigh shifting between his legs, and he laughs softly.  “Is that so?” he murmurs, and Aidan’s tongue swipes out along the nape of his neck.

 

“Mm.”

 

He can feel Aidan hardening slowly behind him, and that alone makes his cock twitch with interest, combined with the slow rock of Aidan’s hips, his thigh firm between Dean’s legs, and he’s tipping his head back to find Aidan’s mouth.  Aidan kisses him slowly and sleepily, just a slow build of heat and pressure, tasting each other as the minutes tick by.  Aidan hums before pulling away, and Dean laughs softly when he turns his head to yawn.  “M’tired,” Aidan mumbles, accent so thick and curling with his sleep that Dean is surprised he can understand him.

 

“So it appears,” Dean teases, stretching back against Aidan, who groans low when Dean’s ass slides along his dick.

 

“Do you even _know_ —” Aidan begins, shifting so that he can move easier, and his cock rubs along the small of Dean’s back, warm and hard, “—how long I’ve wanted to have sleepy morning sex with you.”

 

“I do not know, actually,” Dean says, reaching behind him and nudging at Aidan until he rolls away, making a soft noise of protest.  “Hush,” Dean says, rolling onto his side and pushing at Aidan again, who settles onto his other side, sighing as Dean trails a hand along his side, stopping to dig his fingers in against Aidan’s hard stomach before sliding along the swell of his ass and squeezing lightly.  Aidan chuckles, low and tired, and Dean smirks before shifting until he can reach his nightstand.  “Did you know—” he begins, and Aidan grins, “—that morning sex is my favorite?”

 

“Someone told me that you were a picky son of a bitch,” Aidan mumbles.

 

“I believe that was me,” Dean whispers before leaning down to kiss at Aidan’s right shoulder, trailing down until he bites lightly at the bone there, and Aidan lets out a soft sigh, shifting back into Dean’s touch.  He scoots closer, fingers slick with lube, and Aidan jumps a bit when Dean’s fingers land on his ass.  Dean immediately pulls away, frowning, and he hooks his chin over Aidan’s shoulder, asking, “You okay?”

 

Aidan’s a moment in responding, but his voice is easy when he says, “Yeah, sorry.  You were saying?”  He flashes his hazel eyes up to Dean, a cheeky grin in place, and Dean rolls his eyes, leaning down to kiss him before his fingers are back, index slowly circling Aidan’s entrance.  Aidan kisses him a little harder when he nudges the tip of his finger in, and he responds in like, licking over the roof of his mouth as he eases the rest of the finger in.  Aidan groans into the kiss, tightening around him, and Dean pulls away for air, gaze flicking over Aidan’s face, searching.  He sees it there, a slight shadow in his eyes, and he wants to frown, so instead he kisses him, makes him remember this is him, this is _Dean_ , and whatever happened, he’s safe here.

 

It seems to work, because then Aidan is relaxing back into his sleepy state, and Dean makes short work of stretching him before he’s sliding a condom on and lubing his dick.  Aidan makes the most amazing noise when he pulls him close and slides inside his ass, and Dean can’t help the moan that stutters out of him before he’s kissing frantically at Aidan’s shoulder, wrapping his arm around him to tug him as close as he can get him, until they’re back to chest, and Dean can press his nose into Aidan’s curls and bite at the nape of his neck, grinning as he shudders and arches back into the languid thrust of Dean’s hips.

 

This time, it’s slow and easy.  Aidan’s got his hand curled around Dean’s, fingers entwined, and they share lazy kisses sometimes, but it’s mostly just Dean mapping out his shoulders and neck with his mouth, and Aidan making these maddening little sounds, tiny bursts of noise that are pressed out of him with each roll of Dean’s hips, and the morning light starts to brighten before Dean hears that already familiar whine building.  He quickens his pace a little, groaning as Aidan clenches around him spasmodically, and then he’s reaching back and pulling Dean even closer to him, hand sliding up his body until he’s hooking it around his neck and pulling him into a fierce kiss.  Dean feels a low tug in his belly, and he reaches around to take Aidan’s cock in hand, moaning into his mouth as Aidan bucks into the touch, breath panting out against Dean’s lips as they part.  Dean presses his forehead against Aidan’s, eyes flicking open to find his, and Aidan holds his gaze until his breath hitches, and he tips his head back up for a kiss.  Dean gasps when Aidan comes, a slow build up to the final release, and Aidan breaks away with a shattered moan, pressing back against Dean as his cock pulses in Dean’s hand, spilling out over the sheets.  Dean groans low in his throat and speeds his thrusts, hips snapping in against Aidan’s ass until he’s coming with a gasp, his temple pressed against the back of Aidan’s neck.

 

He’s trembling as he comes down, his breath harsh in his throat, and Aidan reaches for his hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing it tiredly.  “M’tired,” he says once he’s finished, and Dean laughs softly, squeezing Aidan close to him.

 

“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, and Aidan makes a soft noise, already halfway there.  Dean disentangles them, and Aidan rolls onto his back when Dean slides from the bed and sets about cleaning up.  When he’s finished, he climbs back into bed and curls against Aidan, head settling on his shoulder.  Aidan smiles sleepily and wraps his arms around him, head turning to kiss Dean’s temple, and he lets his head rest there, a breath away from Dean’s, and that’s how they drift off the second time.

 

\--

 

It’s just past eleven when Dean wakes and stretches, and he looks over to the slightly open door to where the bathroom lies.  Steam curls around the bottom of the door, and the sound of the shower is soft in the distance.  Yawning, Dean lets himself settle in bed for a few more minutes before he finally stretches again and slides from the sheets, padding naked over to the bathroom.  He knocks lightly on the door as he steps inside to announce his presence, and Aidan turns at the noise.  The shower, built into the corner against the white walls, has a rounded exterior of pale blue glass, just transparent enough that Dean can make out his silhouette.  “Mind if I join you?” Dean asks quietly, and Aidan reaches over, pushing open the door.  Smiling, Dean pads over and steps inside, laughing when Aidan is suddenly on him.

 

“Stop laughing, arsehole,” Aidan murmurs against his mouth, “You’re starting to make me self-conscious.”

 

“I can’t help it,” Dean says, ducking out from under him and going to stand under the spray.

 

They fall into an easy rhythm, showering around one another, and Dean figures he really shouldn’t be surprised when Aidan comes up behind him, cock half-hard and insistent against his ass, and says, “Mind if I suck your cock?”  Dean stumbles, reaching out a hand to steady himself, somehow manages to answer, and then Aidan’s spinning him until his back hits glass, and he’s left with one hand fisted in his dark curls and the other scrabbling for purchase on the wall as Aidan’s mouth closes around his cock.

 

After he’s returned the favor and they’ve made out against the slick white walls, they finally finish showering, and it’s only when Dean’s looping a towel around his waist that he sees it, a little scar just above Aidan’s ass, curving around the back of his right hip.  He reaches forward before Aidan can cover it with a towel, and Aidan jumps when he thumbs over it, frowning.  Aidan jerks away from his touch, tying the towel around his waist, and there’s a shadow in his eyes when he faces Dean, who steps back and crosses his arms over his chest, frown deepening.  “When are you going to tell me what happened?” he asks, and Aidan shakes his head, lower lip trembling.

 

“Please, just—” he tries to step around Dean, but they’re done doing this dance, and Dean hates that he’s been only guessing at that second guy that brought Aidan home, the one that made him stop looking for sex in clubs and instead staying close to Dean.  He can still remember the third time they went out, how Aidan had danced only when Dean finally went out on the floor, how he’d shook off every man or woman that approached him, how he’d held Dean’s hand on the ride home, silent and unseeing.  Whatever had happened, Dean hadn’t asked, but this is them now, and he’s done guessing.

 

“I don’t—” Aidan begins, trying to step around again, and Dean just crowds into him, taking his wrists in hand and bringing his hands up to his mouth to kiss them.

 

“Aid,” he says softly, resting his chin on his hands, “Talk to me.”

 

Aidan pulls in his lower lip and chews on it, staring down at Dean with some mixture of uncertainty and determination on his face.  Finally, he takes his hands back, and, this time, Dean doesn’t stop him when he steps around him and leaves the bathroom.  Instead, he follows him out after a moment, going to sit on the bed as Aidan towels himself off and pulls on his briefs and trousers.  When he’s finished, he scrubs the towel over his curls, sits on the bed, and doesn’t look at Dean.  “Can you come here?  Please?” Aidan asks softly.

 

Dean pads over and sits next to him, looking over when Aidan takes one of his hands and holds it tightly, the index on his other tracing patterns on the back of Dean’s hand.  “It’s—nothing, really,” Aidan murmurs, “You remember Kellan.  It was—I dunno, kind of an extension of that.  I was _royally pissed_ when I went home with that second guy, Alex, and I really shouldn’t have gone back to his, but—whatever.  I did, and he was an okay shag, nothing great, but I crashed there, and we just kept drinking the next day, and then I—I don’t really remember a lot of what happened the second night.  I do remember waking up sore as fuck the second morning, and—and there was some guy I didn’t recognize in the bed with us.  When I went out into the living room, uhm—that’s when I realized I was bleeding, where that mark is, and I think I’d been tied up at some point because my wrists were all chafed, and there were—shit, Dean, there were lines on the coffee table, and I want to say I didn’t, but I don’t really know, and it—it made have been kind of dubious about consent, and—” Aidan breaks off, and that’s when Dean suddenly understands, and he lifts a hand to Aidan’s chin, forcing their eyes to meet.  Silent tears shine on Aidan’s cheeks, and he holds Dean’s gaze only a moment before leaning forward and kissing him.  Dean returns the kiss, trying to show Aidan all that he can’t find words to say, and he thinks it works, because then Aidan’s leaning into him, and Dean’s wrapping his arms around him and rubbing a hand over his back.

 

“Did you ever tell anyone?” Dean asks after a moment, and he’s surprised when Aidan nods.

 

He pulls back, wiping at his face, and he shrugs one shoulder before saying, “Richard started noticing something was up, and he stayed back that one night I didn’t go out with you guys, and he came by my trailer to talk.  He was really good about it, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I just—I wanted to forget about it and try to move things in the right direction with us.  I wanted to just—focus on you.”

 

“It’s okay,” Dean says, trying for a small smile, “I get it.”  He holds Aidan’s gaze for a moment before patting his thigh and saying, “Do you want breakfast?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Aidan groans, smiling, “I am starving.”

 

“Good, I make excellent pancakes.”

 

“I’m holding you to that,” Aidan warns him as he gets off the bed and goes to dress.

 

“Do you wanna stop by the hotel and get your stuff after?”

 

“Yeah, sure.  Can I borrow a t-shirt?  Mine smells like whiskey.”

 

Dean tosses him over a shirt, which he pulls on gratefully before padding over to where Dean’s searching for a pair of jeans, and he laughs when Aidan slaps him on the ass and kisses the back of his neck before heading out, calling obnoxiously for Logan and Grace.

 

When Dean finally gets downstairs, dressed in jeans and a loose t-shirt, his feet bare, Logan and Grace are eagerly eating breakfast, Grace peeking over at Logan every once in a while, but Logan knows better than to try to steal her food.  Dean sets to work getting breakfast ready while Aidan brews them a pot of coffee, humming to himself as he does.  It’s an easy, warm atmosphere, and Dean can’t help the smile that won’t seem to leave his face as they work around one another, eventually settling at the island to eat pancakes and eggs, complements to Aidan, and it’s all endless chatter until Aidan’s stealing a pair of flip flops, Logan’s hopping in the backseat of the Buick, and they’re off to the hotel, the radio on and windows open, Aidan drawing patterns on the back of Dean’s hand and arm where it rests on the center console.  He talks nonstop the whole way over, telling Dean stories and making up things when he thinks he’s not listening, and Dean just laughs at him until Aidan threatens to tickle and Logan shoves his head in between them.

 

When they arrive at the hotel, it’s at the same time as James, and they go over to greet him.  They end up running into Richard, who keeps them chatting in the hallway until he sees the way they stand, just a little too close, and he smiles knowingly, laughs, and leaves them feeling a little bit exposed and bewildered.  Aidan checks out while Dean takes his things to the Buick, laughing when he finds Adam chatting with Logan, who has his head poked out the back window.  Overall, it turns out to be a wonderful day, spent hanging out with some of the cast for a bit before they head back to the house and retreat into the backyard where Logan runs about and Grace carefully explores, though she stays mostly on Aidan’s lap, content to sleep in the sun.

 

They’ve only got a week at the house, but Dean has a feeling being back at the trailers isn’t going to be the same.

 

\--

 

_July 31, 2011._

_Somehow_ , Aidan convinces Peter having a kitten on set would be the most amazing idea in the world, and so Grace gets packed up with them in Brett’s car.  Brett arrives early, as always, but Aidan’s all bouncy and tugging at Dean, so they’re actually awake and mostly ready when the SUV pulls up.  Brett watches in amusement as Aidan comes out of the house singing to himself, and he quirks an eyebrow when Dean follows.  “Nothing going on, huh?”

 

“There really wasn’t, at the time, but it was bound to happen eventually.  He’s— _infectious_ ,” Dean says, and, as though he’s listening, Aidan looks over and flashes a bright smile.  He blows a kiss, and Dean laughs softly.

 

“I’m happy for you,” Brett says, “He seems like a great guy.”

 

“He really is,” Dean says fondly.  They finish packing up the car, Aidan gets in the back with Grace and Logan, and they stop off at Jared’s on the way.  Grace starts mewling pitifully when they leave Logan with Jared, and Aidan starts making cooing noises at her.  They arrive at the airport at the same time as James, who starts yelling over to them from where he’s unloading his stuff.

 

“Thanks for the ride, Brett!” Aidan calls even as he’s hurrying over to James, Grace’s carrier in hand.  Eventually, they end up on the plane, and, after much gushing over Grace and a short talk from Peter, they’re in the air.

 

Graham and James turn around as soon as they’re able, both smirking, and Dean kind of wants to smack them.  “So,” Graham says as James wiggles his eyebrows, “This is a thing, then?”

 

“Hey, wanna make out?” Aidan says, nudging Dean in the ribs, and Dean makes a face, backing away.

 

“Ew, cooties!”  Aidan dives over the seat at him as Dean laughs, and Graham and James chuckle and turn away.

 

“Hey,” Aidan says before he kisses Dean.  He sits afterward, and Dean follows, taking his hand and winding their fingers together.

 

“I have an idea,” He says, and Aidan hums for him to continue, “You should move into my trailer.”

 

“Keep up, Fí, that was totally already happening.”  Dean just laughs and shifts until he can lie comfortably in Aidan’s lap, drifting off as the lights flick off.

 

\--

 

“Okay, this is ridiculous,” Aidan says as Dean answers his phone, “The fact that I really have, like, _no_ clothes here is kind of strange.”

 

“Can you remember the last time you slept alone on set?  _Oh_ ,” Dean adds softly.

 

Aidan laughs loudly and says, “Have you finally realized I’ve been secretly courting you?”

 

“Did you just use the word _courting_?”

  
“Wooing, maybe?”

 

“I don’t even know you.”

 

“Peacocking, definitely.”

 

Dean hangs up on Aidan’s impending giggles, though it’s not long before they’re filling his trailer.  “Look at this video of peacocking I found,” Aidan says, handing Dean his phone as he passes by him with a backpack slung over his shoulder.  Dean obeys, though he’s distracted by the way Aidan flops on the bed and nuzzles against Grace.

 

The backpack tips onto the floor, and Aidan’s shirt gets all mucked up until Dean’s setting Aidan’s phone on the dresser and shrugging out of his sweatshirt.  Aidan makes a soft noise when Dean toes off his shoes and reaches over to put Grace on the floor.  She meows in protest, but Aidan, eyes fixed on Dean, says, “Daddy’s busy right now, baby.”  His voice drops, low and husky, and his tongue darts out to wet his mouth, teeth flashing to drag over his bottom lip.

 

“ _God_ , Aidan,” Dean groans, and then there’s no more space between them.

 

\--

 

Later, when they’re lying together, out of breath but still kissing lazily, Grace pads into the room and meows softly.  Aidan laughs as he pulls away, sliding off the bed to pick her up.  “Do you miss Logan while you’re here?”

 

“A lot, actually,” Dean admits, pulling Aidan toward him until he can take Grace and set her on his chest, where she pads in a circle and then settles in a little ball, purring happily as Dean pets her.

 

Aidan watches them for a bit, lying on his side, before he raises up on an elbow and asks, “So, I assume that we’re letting the cast know, at least, but what about—the rest of the world?”

 

Dean shrugs, looking over at him.  “I hope you’re not proposing we put up a billboard somewhere.”

 

“Fuck off, I meant, like—I dunno, when we go out for drinks, are we dating or are we just friends?”

 

“Do you even know how to be just friends?  Because it never really seemed like we were,” Dean says with a small smirk, and Aidan rolls his eyes, but he’s grinning, too.  “Listen,” Dean says, dropping Grace between them and leaning up to kiss Aidan lightly on the mouth, “If it didn’t make me sound like a twelve-year-old girl crushing on some celebrity, I’d already have tweeted about how much I love you and your sexy accent.”

 

Aidan’s got this smile like the sun, and he presses his mouth to Dean’s, kissing him fiercely.  He pushes him onto his back, carefully maneuvering around Grace until he’s straddling Dean’s waist.  When he finally pulls back, they’re both breathing heavily, and Aidan presses their foreheads together, smiling again.  “Maybe no obnoxious tweeting, but it’s not like we should keep it a secret.”

 

Dean gives a soft groan as Aidan suddenly shifts above him, hips moving together.  “I really hate PDA,” he says, and Aidan rolls his eyes dramatically and pecks him on the mouth.

 

“I’m so holding your hand in public, and you can’t stop me, but I promise I won’t grope you unless we’re on the dance floor.”

 

“I may have a thing for almost getting caught, though.”

 

Aidan stills above him, staring down at him with dark eyes, and Dean pulls in his bottom lip to bite on it.  Finally, in barely a whisper, Aidan says, “I want to fuck you so hard right now.”

 

“ _God yes_ ,” Dean gasps, pulling Aidan by the neck back to him.

 

\--

 

_November 28, 2012._

The day of the premiere arrives and finds Dean awake far earlier than he would have expected.  He barely slept last night, too excited for morning to finally come, and he practically flies out of bed when his alarm finally goes off at eight.  He’s meeting with Jed and William at the airport at nine, who volunteered to pick up the guys and have them hang back at their places, and Dean’s feeling overwhelmingly antsy to get there.  It’s been so fucking long since he last saw Aidan, and he can’t wait to have him back in his life again, right where he belongs.

 

After it all finally _happened_ , after Aidan had moved into his trailer and pretty much everyone on set knew—mostly thanks to James and Graham giggling obscenely to anyone who would listen—and after Adam tweeted a picture of them snuggling in between takes—Dean had hid his face in Aidan’s neck and mumbled nonsense until Aidan was grinning madly—it had just been this _thing_ that started to become so much more than either of them ever expected.  They’d spent the next break between blocks apart again, and been absolutely miserable, so Aidan had flown out to New Zealand a week early and shown up on Dean’s doorstep in the middle of the night and barely knocked before he was being pulled inside.  Their last break, Aidan had stayed in New Zealand and met the _Almighty_ cast, and then filming had ended, and he’d had to go back to Ireland, and it’s been _so damn long_.

 

They’ve been skyping and calling as much as they can, but Dean knows it isn’t enough, will never be enough because having Aidan within arm’s reach—where he can tug on his curls and kiss his fingers and fall asleep in his lap—is like nothing he’s ever experienced.  Aidan swears it’s the same for him, and he believes it, what with the random texts he gets in the middle of the night, and the string of voicemails that pops up one day, a detailed account of his day and why he wishes Dean were with him, while he’s filming series three, and that one time Aidan called him, his voice rough, and sworn at him, begging him and telling him he _needed_ him, and Dean really can’t stand phone sex, but he’d practically dropped Grace in his hurry to get somewhere— _anywhere_ —where he could sit and yank his trousers down.  He knows it with all of his being that he loves Aidan, that he’s coming loose at the edges because of him, becoming a _better man_ , and it’s both insanely worrying and wonderful all at once.  He can see it happening in Aidan, too, in little things, and it makes him all twitchy and giddy whenever he thinks about how interwoven they are in each other, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world.

 

So, when his alarm goes off at eight, he throws back the blankets and jogs into the bathroom, jumping into the shower and shouting when it’s freezing.  He gets back in once it’s hot, showers like the world is ending and it’s his last, and then he’s hopping between feet in front of his closet trying to decide what to wear.  He ends up in a plaid shirt he knows Aidan likes, blue and green to bring out his eyes, and a pair of jeans that hug his legs, his hightops tucked neatly beneath them.  He slicks his unruly hair back until it looks nice, thinking all the while about Aidan’s curls, and then he’s off to feed the kids and meander aimlessly around the kitchen while his coffee brews.

 

It ends up that he has a free fifteen minutes and no amount of telly or bumping into things in his studio is going to calm him, so he grabs a book, his keys, and his phone, and makes his way out to his Buick, sliding behind the wheel and heading out for the airport.  He’s earlier than he wants to be, so he settles behind his wheel and reads until he gets a text from Jed, _you here yet?_ He gets out as he’s dialing Jed’s number, and he’s just locking the Buick when he picks up, “Hey, mate.”

 

“Of course I’m fuckin’ here, I could barely sit still this morning,” he says by way of greeting, and Jed chuckles.

 

“Seriously, _you two_.  You’re sickening.”

 

“It’s been, like, eight years since I last saw him, okay, so shove it.”

 

“I’m puking,” Jed teases, and then hangs up.  Dean waves as he sees him, coming over.  William joins them a few minutes later, and Dean’s grateful for their company because they distract him catching up, and they’re all lounging comfortably when the plane’s arrival is finally announced.  William laughs when Dean groans loudly because it’s not Aidan’s flight, but some of the England guys, but he goes with them anyway.

 

There’s some press floating around hoping for a glimpse at the cast together, but they’re all too busy catching up with each other that they barely notice.  A flight from Ireland is just arriving when a group of them are gathered together and chatting, and Dean doesn’t hear the arrival announcement because he’s caught up in a tale from Richard, so, when his phone vibrates and he pulls it out to find a new message, he barely comprehends the text, _wow, look how lucky I am, getting passed up for our majestic uncle_.

 

Dean turns, his phone clutched tightly in his hand, and he breaks out in a beam as sees Aidan coming toward him with a matching expression.  He hears Richard’s laugh and a catcall from Jed, but only just because then he’s jogging over to Aidan, who puts down one of his bags as Dean gets close.  Dean pulls him in tight, and Aidan lets out a soft sigh as he winds his arms around Dean and returns the embrace.  “I missed you so much,” Aidan mumbles, and Dean just squeezes tighter before pulling back.

 

“You have no idea,” Dean says, and then Aidan’s laughing and pulling him in for a kiss, and Dean just tangles his hands in his curls and kisses back for all Aidan’s giving.  When they pull apart again, James lets out a loud whistle and claps Aidan on the back as he’s passing by, so Dean flips him two fingers and smiles up at Aidan.  “C’mon,” he says, taking his hand as Aidan grabs his bag, “We’ve got some time to kill before the premiere.”

 

Aidan grins wickedly, his thumb rubbing over the back of Dean’s hand, and they stop only long enough to say hello and get laughed at by the guys before they’re heading out into the parking lot and driving home.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, okay. I guess that’s the end. I was planning on another 3k or so, but I kind of like how that worked out, so I think that’s that— _for now_. I don’t know why I always get myself into these messes, series and whatever, but hey! This is going to be a series of fics of relatively the same length. If you’ve read my kitrichard series, _we’re living louder_ , something like that. I figure, I have three films to work with, might as well, and I have some ideas for later in their relationship. I’m having a lot of fun with these two, so look forward to a sequel hopefully soon, though sometimes my muse is a flake and runs away for a while. Whatever, we’ll see what happens, but definitely expect more at some point. For now, don’t forget to leave your thoughts!


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